All Roses
by Momma-Ran
Summary: Christophe is in love with Tweek and wants to save him from the abusive Craig. Craig is determined to do all he can to stop Tweek from leaving him.


_**Friday**_

Christophe staggers back and rubs his jaw. His pale green eyes are ablaze with fury, his mouth twisted into a snarl. A loud click, a sharp pain, and his jaw pops back into place. He pushes off the wall, launching himself at his opponent.

Craig Tucker twists out of the way with ease.

Christophe turns heel, grabs the noirette's jacket, and pulls hard. He pulls back his fist and lets it fly.

There is a satisfying crunch when Craig's nose breaks. Blood spurts onto both of them. Opaque gray eyes are twin pools of hatred. Craig's bloody face morphs into something that belongs in a horror movie. He hooks a foot around brunette's ankle in an attempt to trip him.

For a moment Christophe teeters on one foot, trying to use Craig's weight to compensate for his sudden loss of balance.

They almost end up on the linoleum floor but Craig tries to pull away, and Christophe regains his balance. When it becomes apparent that neither of them are going to fall, both of them throw punches at each other.

A pop tells Christophe that his jaw has been dislocated again. Once again he pops it back into place. It doesn't seem to go back right, though, because it still hurts. He works it, wondering to himself if he is going to have to have it dislocated again before it will go back correctly.

Craig is holding his left eye, glaring at the brunette with his right. His swollen eye can be seen when he lowers his hand. The blood on his face has dried.

Panting, they glare at each other. With three feet of space between them they give each other a chance to catch their breath. It won't last long. The physical fight has briefly turned into a battle of wills. As soon as one of them blinks or looks away, the fight will continue.

Christophe's eyes are starting to water after three minutes. A minute later it passes and they sting. He refuses to look away. The French teenager is not one to back down; no matter what the stupid Americans say about Frenchmen.

It looks like Craig's eye is bothering him as well. His hands are curled into fists, ready to strike again.

_We can't keep hitting each other. It won't end the fight any time soon. _Christophe wants to rub his temples but keeps his hands to his sides. An ancient instinct says to go for the throat. _Do I want to kill him? _The answer comes to the brunette immediately. _Yes. _

In some distant land a school bell rings. Neither of them pay any attention to it. Like fog the tension between them is thick.

The brunette grows impatient. Pushing off of his toes, Christophe launches himself at Craig again. His arm is held back like he's going to punch the noirette again.

Craig's hand whips up to catch Christophe's. It stops inches from the noirette's broken face. They are so close that the Frenchman can taste the mint on Craig's breath. The noirette is strong; their arms shake with the effort of pushing against each other.

While Craig is distracted with his fist, Christophe brings his other hand up. Fingers clamp tightly around the noirette's throat.

The silver eye widens. His eye says he should have seen this coming. Craig sucks in a breath.

Christophe tightens his grip. Something inside Christophe goes icy cold before shutting down. He just stops feeling. Their eyes are locked once more. This time there is a glimmer of fear in his opponents foggy orbs. The French teenager hardly feels Craig's nails on the back of his hand. Every time the noirette breathes, Christophe tightens his grip.

Craig's olive skin is turning an interesting shade of purple. His expression is pained, panicked. Like a cat who doesn't want to be held, Craig twists and thrashes to get himself out of the choke hold Christophe has on him.

Some vague, unspeakable part of Christophe finds the weakening of Craig's struggle interesting. The hues his skin takes on from red, to purple, to blue are fascinating. Christophe notes that Craig's eye is wide, like its going to pop out of its socket.

Just as Craig is turning white, someone yanks Christophe backwards. Automatically he releases his opponent, wondering what came over him. He watches Craig drop like a box of rocks to his knees, gasping for air.

As he returns to his senses, Christophe becomes aware of someone talking to him. Turning his head, he sees a tall, freckled redhead. The brunette rips himself from the intruder's grip.

Kyle Broflovski isn't going to let him go so easily, it seems. He grabs the brunette's forearm. "What the fuck was that?!" The redhead demands.

"None of your fucking business, beetch." Once again he tears himself free. From the corner of his eye he sees Stan and Kenny beside the fallen Craig. A prickle of unease goes through the French teen; not because he regrets fighting Craig but because -

A voice cuts into his thoughts. "Craig!"

Four heads turn to watch a blond teenager hurrying towards them. His shirt is buttoned incorrectly, his hair looks like it hasn't seen a brush in days, and there are ink stains on his pale hands. Tweek Tweak drops to his knees beside Craig, tears in his large golden eyes. They don't fall because Tweek will never cry but they are still there. "What h-h-happened? Was it the – nngh! - dwarfs?"

A snigger comes from the other blonde at Craig's side. Kenny sits back against the lockers with his hand covering his grin, shaking with silent laughter.

Even the noirette, Stan, has a smirk on his face. Christophe can't help but notice how similar Stan and Craig look side-by-side. There are minor differences in their faces and builds for sure but its like they were sculpted with the same clay.

"Non," Christophe surprises himself by speaking. "I did eet."

Golden orbs snap to him. "You?" His brow furrows as he takes in the Frenchman's appearance. Christophe doesn't know what he's revealing unconsciously but Tweek seems to come to some conclusion.

"D-Don't look at h-him." Craig's voice is a hoarse whisper.

Immediately Tweek's eyes drop from Christophe to the floor. He looks smaller, somehow. More meek than usual.

All of his rage comes back full force. It boils up inside him like righteous lava. Without thinking, Christophe aims for Craig's head and kicks. The direct blow to his head knocks the noirette unconscious.

Kyle makes a move like he's going to restrain the brunette again then drops his hands. "Well, lets get him to the nurse's office."

Stan and Kenny take Craig's arms and legs.

With Kyle leading the four of them vanish.

Only Tweek remains behind. The blonde seems unsure of something. He picks at his converse.

Christophe waits. With Craig gone, his anger has lessened. It's still there beneath the surface but it's under control. "'E didn't say you couldn't zalk zo me."

"I-I know." Tweek responds. He still doesn't look at Christophe, not even the brunette's black boots.

The brunette sighs. A craving for nicotine has his hands shaking. "So eet ez personal." He mutters under his breath. Reaching for the cigarette usually tucked behind his ear, Christophe finds its gone.

Tweek's head snaps up just as Christophe spots the crushed cancer stick. Suddenly realizing he's disobeying a direct order, Tweek's face falls and his eyes are glued once more to the floor. It was over in seconds. Christophe barely saw the motion. He notices the blonde's pale hands are shaking. "I have to – gah! - go!" Tweek scrambles away, almost tripping over himself in his rush to leave.

When Tweek is out of sight, Christophe makes his way to the nearest bathroom. He literally kicks a Freshman boy out before locking the door. Looking in the mirror, Christophe grimaces. Then rolls his eyes at the stab of pain in his jaw. There is a slight bump that looks like it doesn't belong.

Steeling himself, the brunette punches himself. He feels bone grinding against bone. It sends unpleasant shivers down his spine. Again, he hits himself. The pain makes his head swim but finally there is a click. The bone slid back into place. Christophe works his jaw for a moment, making sure it really is okay.

Next the brunette turns on the sink to its hottest setting. Using the scalding water he washes Craig's blood off his face and neck. Thankfully this is South Park and no one gives a shit if people are walking around with blood on their faces. When his face is clean, Christophe turns the water off.

He stands staring at himself in the mirror. If not for the scars on his face he would probably be considered handsome. His pale green eyes are a strange color too. They don't seem to go with his suntanned skin or chocolate brown hair. Christophe doesn't know from whom in his family he inherited his eyes; as far as he and his mother know Christophe is the only one who has eyes like that.

Turning away, the brunette fishes in the pocket of his cargo pants for a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. With no thought of where he is, Christophe lights up. The smoke detector in this restroom has been broken for a long time. Nicotine smoke strokes his lungs and soothes the remainder of his temper. _Something has to be done about Craig._

With this thought in mind, Christophe finishes his cigarette. He snuffs it on the underside of a porcelain sink, throws the butt in the trashcan, and walks out.

The burnt orange hallway is crowded with adolescents milling around during their lunch hour. "Is this thing on?" A static voice comes on overhead. Everyone pauses to listen except Christophe. He hurries down the hallway, pushing past still bodies. "Christophe, come to the office. Now. That is all."

The brunette feels every eye on his back. With a sigh he drags his feet to the office. There are whispers at his back which he ignores.

Unsurprisingly, Craig and most of Stan's gang is there already. Tweek is nowhere to be seen. They must not have said anything about him. Briefly Christophe wonders where the blonde is.

Craig looks ready to spit fire at the brunette. The crimson has been cleaned off his face, his nose is bandaged, and he is holding an icepack to his eye. He looks ridiculous and definitely like he's been in a fight.

Christophe flips him off. He can't keep the smug smirk off his face, particularly when he sees the ring of bruises around Craig's neck.

Stan and Kyle are looking like they want to be somewhere else. The redhead and noirette have their heads together, whispering in urgent voices. Kenny is holding a NASCAR magazine but from the way he keeps giggling, Christophe doubts he's looking at cars.

As the brunette is sliding into the empty chair beside the blonde, Principle Victoria comes out of her office. She looks angry, and very old. Her once thick blonde hair is now gray and thinner than it used to be when they were in grade school. "I don't know why you can't seem to stay out of fights, Mr. Tucker."

Well that certainly was not what Christophe was expecting. He was sure that he would be the one to blame. After all, he was the instigator and the one who almost killed someone.

Apparently it comes as a surprise that Principle Victoria is blaming Craig for this. No one protests it though, but Craig. None of them are loyal to the Tucker boy; they just didn't want me to get in trouble for killing him. "Principle Victoria, I didn't start it."

Her brown eyes stare him down until Craig is squirming in his seat. Clearly she has had years to perfect this look on him. "Of course you didn't. Just like you never start any fights." Her fiery gaze flits over to Christophe, taking in the bruise on the side of his face. "Apparently, Christophe here ended it."

Craig leaps to his feet. The icepack falls to the floor. "I'm telling you, I didn't start it! I was walking down the hall and he came out of nowhere and attacked me!" He points a long finger at the brunette. "He tried to kill me!"

Christophe has to swallow down the urge to bite Craig's finger off. He does his best to keep his face neutral.

Principle Victoria turns to our three witnesses. "Is this true?" Her voice is sharp, demanding that they cut the bullshit. There are lines in the woman's face that are like caverns.

With no hesitation Kyle speaks first. "No. Christophe was just punching him when I pulled him off Tucker."

Brown eyes narrow at him but Kyle hasn't known her long enough for her looks to make him squirm. His emerald green eyes stare back into her rather boring brown ones. "What about his throat?"

The trio exchanges looks among themselves. "Well," Stan starts off slowly. His doubt and hesitation are obvious.

Kenny cuts him off. "By now you must be aware that Craig and Tweek are dating." The blonde waits for a curt nod from the woman before continuing. "Tweek told me that they are into some freaky stuff." He raises a questioning blonde eyebrow at her.

Principle Victoria glances back at Craig. While she isn't looking the other four boys look at him too. His face is beat red and his visible eye is angry. Kenny must have struck somewhere close to home for that kind of an expression to appear on Craig's face.

Christophe swallows hard. His mind conjurors up many scenarios where Tweek is tied up and Craig is doing awful things to him. The only sign of his anger and disgust is his boot tapping against the floor.

"Craig, I'm suspending you for two weeks." She holds up her hand as he starts to complain. "You are also going to see a therapist. Go into my office now." With a wave of her hand, Principle Victoria dismisses the other four. Then she pauses, looking at Christophe. "I don't want to hear about you fighting anymore, Christophe."

The brunette nods. She won't hear about any fights he happens to get into. After the door closes, Christophe turns to Kenny. "Want a smoke?"

Grinning, the blonde follows him out to the designated teachers smoking area. The Goth kids must be ditching because the two have it to themselves.

Christophe gives him the promised cigarette and lights it for the blonde. Once he lights his own fag the brunette asks,"Eez zat true?" His hands are shaking.

Kenny's vivid blue eyes are examining him curiously. Then he looks towards the gray sky. "Maybe." The blonde shakes his head. "Tweek would never admit to something like that. You must have seen the bruises and burns."

Christophe doesn't answer. He wants it to be a lie but he has seen the bruises and burns from rope being too tight. It isn't easy to catch the marks since the skittish blonde always wears long sleeves and pants; but occasionally they can be seen when Tweek stretches or forgets and rolls up his sleeves.

Christophe fingers the coils of rope wrapped around his torso. His brain had been trying to make excuses but when he thinks of it the only logical explanation is a very twisted game of BDSM.

The blonde beside him blows smoke in his face. "Earth to Christophe. Your boner for Tweek is none of my business, but if you ever move past this weird stage you two are at, you are going to have to go slow. Super slow. Slower than you normally would. Craig isn't following the rules of being a good Dom and Tweek is going to be all sorts of fucked up because of it."

Christophe ignores the smoke in his face. "He already is." He mutters. The clouds are gathering in large numbers. The clouds look too thin to be snow.

That Kenny knows about his thing for Tweek is of no surprise. Christophe is sure that everyone their age knows it except for the object of his affection.

"Thanks for the smoke, dude." Kenny pats his shoulder and leaves.

A moment later the bell screeches that its the end of their lunch hour. Christophe sits through his classes without paying attention. When the final bell rings the brunette walks home.

Icy cold rain pours down from the sky in bucketfuls. The sky is a hundred shades of gray and silver. Everything looks muted. In spite of this he doesn't try to rush home. Soon his clothes are soaked through. Although they stick to him like a second skin, its very uncomfortable. Thankfully the walk home is not a long one.

His apartment is a tiny one bedroom, barely 650 square feet. The living room is easily the smallest part of the place and the balcony is the largest. Just as well, since that is where he mostly passes the time until its time to go to school again. The walls are an ugly beige; the worn carpet is a light gray; and the fake tile in the kitchen and bathrooms is pale yellow and cheap.

A small black cat pads up to him when the brunette opens the door. Undeterred by the wetness of his pants, the she-cat rubs against his legs while Christophe tries to shut the door. "Luminoir, get out of ze way." With his foot he nudges her aside and closes the door. Before turning his attention to his cat, Christophe begins the process of locking his front door. Five locks later, the brunette turns to his patient Luminoir. "School was awful zoday."

He proceeds to tell her all about his day, right down to what he discovered about Tweek's sex life. All the while he is changing clothes. Afterwards he fixes them both dinner. "Salmon for ze lady." Christophe sets a plate of fresh fish onto the floor. "And microwave pizza for me." The brunette frowns at the pizza which tastes more like cardboard but he eats it regardless. Something in his stomach is better than nothing.

While he eats the brunette turns on his TV. Sitting on the couch, the brunette watches the news. Not the American news, but the British news channels. That's the only real way to get information about what is going on in this god-forsaken country. Christophe isn't into it like he usually is. His mind keeps wandering back to Tweek. That's part of the curse of being in love with someone; they are always on your mind.

_**Saturday**_

Christophe opens his eyes and stares at the popcorn on the ceiling. Beside him Luminoir is purring in his ear. He reaches up to stroke the dark feline. Getting out of bed is always the hardest part of the day. It means going to school and watching Craig control Tweek's life.

Then he remembers; Craig has been suspended. For two entire weeks.

Suddenly Christophe feels his mood improve. He sits up, disturbing Luminoir. "Tweek ez free. Free for zwo weeks." Snatching the small black she-cat up, Christophe holds her above his head, grinning from ear to ear. "Luminoir! It's fantastic, oui?!"

Luminoir meows plaintively, her tail lashing.

Christophe sets her aside and gets up. After taking a shower and brushing his teeth he dresses in all black; cargo pants, tank top, and boots. His customary rope is wrapped from the left shoulder to the right hip. He pulls on fingerless black leather gloves. Ready to leave, Christophe calls goodbye to his cat, and walks out the door.

Halfway to school the brunette stops. He glances at the watch on wrist. The tiny date tells him that its Saturday. "Fucking Saturday."

Indecisively Christophe turns heel. He considers going home. Then he decides that he may as well get some breakfast. For a while he wanders aimlessly, not sure what he is in the mood for.

Walking past Tweak Bros coffee shop, the brunette hesitates. There is no guarantee that Christophe won't beat Craig's face in if the noirette is there. On the other hand if he isn't Christophe will get to see Tweek alone.

He pushes open the front door. A bell tinkles. The strong scent of coffee assaults his nose. Tweak Bros is a warm, snug coffee shop. It's dead inside, the only other soul in the store is a brunette man behind the counter. Christophe only hopes that they have muffins.

Upon laying eyes on him the man smiles. It's a strange smile.

Christophe feels very unnerved. The pastries behind the little window make up for the odd man. They look delicious. "A blueberry muffin please."

Completely ignoring the youth's request, the man says,"You look about Tweek's age. I'll go get him." As he walks into a back room and out of sight Christophe can still hear him talking. "Oh yes, my son is about your age I think. You must go to school together. Any friend of Tweek's is a friend of mine. Especially if they like coffee. Black is my favorite."

Then his voice cuts off abruptly. Something clatters to the floor.

Christophe wonders if it was a good idea to come in here. He taps his foot on the floor and shifts his weight. After a few minutes of silence he looks at his watch. How long can it take to get the lithe blonde? Briefly he considers walking out of the hole-in-the-wall shop but decides to sit down instead. Sitting at a booth, he twirls a cigarette between his fingers.

Five minutes later there is no sign of either Tweek or Mr. Tweak. Tobacco is falling out of one end of his cigarette. He sighs and sets it down on the table. Quickly he glances at the empty counter. _Do they want me to help myself? _Christophe takes out his carton of cigarettes, frowning when he sees there are only five left. Not including the one that he abused. He tucks the abused one back in with its remaining companions and replaces the pack in a side pocket.

As time goes on the brunette notices random things. There are four tables with two chairs per table and four booths. The tables are black, the booths are an earthy red. There are twenty-three lights on the ceiling. He can't tell whether the bushy thing in the corner is a fake office plant or if its actually real. The floor looks like its wood but doesn't creak like its made of wood. Someone carved a penis into the edge of the table.

"Ah..."

Christophe looks up into the pale pointed face of Tweek. He can't think of anything to say that won't sound like an attack or accusation for taking so long.

Golden eyes are fixated on a spot past the brunette. "Clyde d-did that." The amber orbs glance over a shoulder. "To mark his spot -ack- or something."

Pale green eyes narrow. "'E didn't piss 'ere did 'e?"

A strange sound comes from the blonde. His hand rises to his flushed face to hide a smile. "N-Not that I know of."

"I've never 'eard you laugh." Before either can continue the conversation, Christophe's stomach growls. It's a loud growl that Tweek can clearly hear.

Tweek glances at Christophe, but not at his face. He smiles again. "What are you – gah! - hungry for?"

Christophe swallows the first answer that comes to mind. "A blueberry muffin." While Tweek walks away, the brunette stares after him. Christophe leans his face the palm of a hand, wondering what it would be like in a world without Craig Tucker. Would Tweek finally return his affection?

Tweek nods as he turns to go get Christophe's order. He returns a moment later with the brunette's muffin and a coffee. Tweek's hands tremble as he sets them both down in front of Christophe.

"Zank you." Christophe peels the wrapper off of his muffin. "Sit with me?"

Tweek sits down opposite him. The blond is quivering like a leaf in the wind. "I...only f-for a - nngh - minute." He lowers his eyes to the table.

While he breaks off pieces of the blueberry muffin, Christophe studies Tweek. He notices the bruises just peeking out from under the blond's turtleneck. The rage is hard to swallow. "Do you want zo come over?"

Tweek's golden doe eyes widen. He still won't look directly at Christophe but his face is lifted up now. "W-w-what?"

After swallowing his bite of muffin, Christophe repeats what he said, "Do you want zo come over?"

Tweek glances down at his lap. He chews on his bottom lip. "I...uh...I have p-plans today."

It doesn't take a genius to figure out that Tweek is going to be with Craig. Beneath the table, the Frenchman taps his fingertips on his leg. "What about tomorrow?" He sees Tweek about to say no again and adds, "I need someone zo watch my cat while I repaint my apartment. She eez a zrouble-maker."

At the mention of a cat and a favor, Tweek perks up. "Oh. W-well. I think I m-might have some time tomorrow – ack – night." His shoulders sag. "If that i-isn't too late."

Christophe smiles. "Non. Zat eez fine." He finishes his muffin and takes a sip of the cooling coffee. Its black but he doesn't mind. Christophe fishes a pen out of his pocket and writes his cell number on a napkin. He pushes it over to Tweek's side of the table. "Call me."

Tweek snatches it up and shoves it in his apron pocket. "I gotta g-get – ack – back to work."

For a few seconds Christophe watches Tweek. Then he stands up, takes out his wallet, and puts twenty dollars on the table. Without a backwards glance, the brunette walks out of the coffee shop.

Christophe waits until he is out of sight before running a hand through his short brown hair. Now he has to buy fucking paint. "I should 'ave just kidnapped 'im or somezing." He makes a trip to the hardware store for said paint.

After debating between army green and dark brown for ten minutes, Christophe gets both. He buys paint rollers, primer, and plastic sheets for the carpet. Its times like this that Christophe wishes he had a car, but the brunette manages to get it all home without dropping anything.

Luminoir sniffs curiously at the paint and equipment then meows. She promptly sits on the sheets of plastic.

"Eet was ze only zing I could zink of zo get 'im over 'ere." Christophe informs her. "'E eez going zo be watching you, so act like you are a terrible cat around paint."

In response she gets up, tail high, and saunters off.

Christophe rubs his temples. Craig doesn't scare him. Its Tweek who scares him. Tweek is the one who could reject him. Not that Christophe plans on rushing things. No, Tweek needs time to acclimate. Like a fish being put into a new aquarium.

For the rest of the day Christophe cleans his apartment. Not that it was dirty to begin with but he needs to keep busy and doesn't feel like socializing. He scrubs the tiny bathroom twice, including the walls. Ashes are swept off the balcony. Air fresheners are hung up in front of air vents because Christophe feels like cigarettes and cat litter aren't a very good smell. Not that paint is much better.

All of the dishes in the sink are washed, dried, and and put in their proper places. The carpet is vacuumed twice and all of his furniture is dusted. Christophe does his laundry then reorganizes his dresser drawers and closet. The books on his bookshelf shelf are reorganized. He even reorganizes the weapons in the massive safe in his closet.

By the time the brunette finally collapses into bed, he is exhausted. Tomorrow he will get everything else done.

_**Sunday**_

Luminoir wakes Christophe at ten o clock in the morning. After checking his phone – there aren't any messages – the brunette sits up. He strokes along the black fur of his companion while he makes a mental list of the things he needs to do before Tweek arrives. If Tweek arrives.

_That is not the way to be thinking._

Christophe pulls on an old pair of cameo cargo shorts and a torn green t-shirt. Good enough, he decides, since he supposed to be painting tonight. He puts on his regular boots, slings his rope around his torso, and puts a pocket knife in a pocket. His wallet and phone follow suit.

The grocery store is the first place Christophe stops. His refrigerator is empty since everything in it was bad and got thrown away. He grabs a shopping cart then walks down the isles to get his usual groceries. Then he pauses, wondering what Tweek likes to eat. Maybe I will make him something French, other than coffee.

He finds the baby Yukon Gold potatoes, parsley, and ground pepper. He already have butter and salt at home. Christophe picks up boneless, skinless chicken thighs and and garlic hot-pepper sauce. It takes a moment to locate thyme, mustard, cider, and bread crumbs.

Tapping his fingers against his thigh, the brunette wonders if he should get a bottle of wine. That might be too much. He doesn't want it to look like a date. Or like he drinks bottles of wine on a regular basis. Christophe passes the alcohol section of the grocery store. From the corner of his eye he reads labels. Without stopping, the Frenchman snatches a bottle of white wine.

He picks up a flower pot full of flowers and puts the bottle in the middle. After getting a pack of cigarettes, Christophe picks up some French vanilla coffee and cat food. Then he proceeds to the checkout. His small act of shoplifting complete, Christophe heads for home, also stealing the shopping cart.

The rest of the world may think that the French are pussies but they really aren't.

Christophe leaves the stolen cart in the parking lot across from his apartment. It takes two trips to get everything into the house. His apartment smells like rain. Christophe takes his time putting it all away.

Luminoir is fed afterwards. The brunette snacks on some cheese and grapes. He checks his phone – which is always on silent – and is disappointed that there are no messages or missed calls. Hopefully Tweek had the sense to not tell Craig about tonight. Christophe has a sinking feeling that he might have.

The brunette strokes the black feline while he sits on the patio and smokes.

This time next month it will be snowing. Fucking South Park.

Until five o clock, Christophe sits on his patio smoking cigarette after cigarette. He debates taking a shower but that wouldn't make sense since he has work to do tonight. Instead he brushes his teeth three times and runs a brush through his messy brown hair. He also applies more deodorant and some subtle cologne.

"You are fucking painting, Christophe, not zaking 'im on a date." he scolds himself as he replaces his glass bottle of cologne.

For the hundredth time that day, the brunette checks his phone. There is a missed phone call and a text message. No voicemail. Christophe opens the text.

_Which apartment is yours? _

Christophe responds with his building and apartment numbers. A few minutes later there is a knock on his door. His heart leaps into his throat but he pushes it back down. Maybe its Tweek. _Or maybe its Craig. _

When the Frenchman answers the door there is no Craig; only Tweek. "I, uh, called y-you." He is looking very nervous. Tweek is wearing a brown sweater and blue jeans. He looks good but the brunette doesn't dare to tell him that just yet.

"Oui. You did. Come in." He steps aside to let the blond in.

Tweek only hesitates for a moment before stepping onto the thresh hold. Once he is inside he takes in everything. Finally he says, "Where is – nngh - your cat?"

"'Ello Tweek. Eet eez nice zo see you zoo." Christophe replies with a smile. He clicks his tongue for Luminoir to come here.

She creeps out from behind the paint, looking cautious. She comes forward until she is a few feet away then sits down and refuses to get closer.

"Zis eez Luminoir." Christophe introduces them after he closes his front door, "Luminoir, zis eez Tweek."

Pale green eyes watch Tweek get down on one knee and tap the ground with his fingertips. He clicks his tongue softly and the black feline gets up and trots over to him. While she sniffs his hand, Tweek remains still. As soon as she headbutts him, Tweek begins to pet her. "S-she's very pretty. Gah. And seems w-well b-behaved."

"Oui. She eez making a liar out of me." From behind Tweek's back, Christophe shoots the she-cat a glare. "I zink eet eez because you are 'ere." She may have an attitude but Luminoir is actually a very respectable and well-tempered cat.

Christophe checks his watch; its 6:30. What a hell of a time to start painting. Its going to take all night and this is a Sunday. He leaves Luminoir to entertain Tweek in the dining area while he spreads out plastic to cover his furniture. With a knife, the brunette opens the can of primer.

He hesitates, then glances back at Tweek. Its going to be awkward with silence. "What kind of music do you like?"

Tweek glances up, surprised, but still avoiding Christophe's face. "O-oh. I, well, I, um, like anything."

Christophe frowns as he considers what to put on. Finally he decides on a playlist of French songs. Tweek doesn't need to know what the words mean. He plugs his iPod onto the speaker doc and music starts.

Music on, the brunette goes back to his job. First he has to prime the walls and let that dry. When he gets close to the balcony door, Christophe slides it open to get some fresh air in the apartment. With many stolen glances at Tweek and Luminoir, Christophe paints the living room.

It takes an hour and a half before he finishes with the primer. During that time it occurred to him that there is no way he can get this done in one day. "Are you 'ungry?" Christophe asks, setting down the paint roller.

Tweek jumps suddenly. "I-I could eat. I guess. Ack! I was just g-going to get s-something on the way home."

Christophe waves a dismissive hand. "Non. You are keeping Luminoir busy. I will cook for you." He turns the music down a little in case there is any chance of conversation.

"You d-don't have to. Nngh. I don't want to be a burden." Tweek gets to his feet and shakes both his hands.

"You are no burden." _Is that really what he thinks of himself?_ "I will not zake no for an answer. You will eat 'ere." Christophe moves into the small kitchen and gets out his ingredients.

Earlier he prepped his food so now all he has to do is cook it. The chicken is in a cooking bag, covered in cider and the pepper-sauce. On a sheet of wax paper he mixes breadcrumbs, salt, thyme, and pepper. Christophe drains the chicken then brushes on mustard and coats them thighs in the breadcrumb mixture. He sprays a skillet with olive oil and slides the chicken into the oven.

While he is waiting on that, Christophe gets started on the potatoes. He mixes his ingredients and puts it all in the microwave. By the time he is finished with that its time to rotate the chicken.

In the few minutes free time Christophe takes out the table settings. After setting the table, Christophe pours the wine into their glasses.

While doing this, the brunette sneaks more peeks at Tweek. The blond is staring as though he can't believe that anyone would cook dinner for him. Or maybe its a look of disbelief that Christophe himself can cook. "What?" He asks with a smile. All of this smiling is starting to hurt his face.

Tweek blushes a light shade of pink. "I didn't k-know you could cook." He seems lost so Christophe indicates where he can sit. Tweek falls into his chair.

"Oui. But I would not be so hasty. You 'aven't tried eet yet." A glance at the clock and Christophe decides its time to take the chicken out of the oven. As he's doing that, the microwave beeps. He sets the chicken on the table then returns for the potatoes.

"Is this real w-wine?" Tweek is holding up his glass, looking at it in amazement. He sniffs at it then takes a sip.

"Yes." Christophe replies. He takes a sip of his and is glad to find that it compliments the food.

"Are you trying – gah – to get me drunk?" Tweek asks suspiciously as he takes yet another sip of wine.

Christophe shakes his head. He is thinking of all the different ways to get sex out of Tweek without getting him drunk but he doesn't say a word about it. No need to frighten the blond away. "I enjoy wine once in a while."

They eat in silence except for once when Tweek comments on how good a cook Christophe is. Between the two of them – and Luminoir when she meows for some – the bottle of white wine goes fast. Christophe never likes the feeling of not being totally in control but he likes how open Tweek is being. Hopefully the blond will remember this tomorrow.

When they finish with the bottle of wine its almost ten. Luminoir is asleep curled up in a chair between them. The teenagers are sitting together on the couch, which they pulled out into the middle of the living room.

"Christophe, w-why did you do that to - hic - Craig?" Tweek's face has a permanent flush.

Christophe regards him with pale green eyes. Even his foggy brain knows its too soon to give an honest answer. "I do nut want zo talk about zat."

Tweek is frowning and staring into Christophe's eyes. His pale face is lightly freckled. And he has a widow's peak. A pale, ink-stained hand brushes Christophe's cheek. "Where did you – nngh – get t-these scars?"

The Frenchman is silent.

Tweek trails his fingers down to one of the scars on Christophe's neck. Then to the one on his throat. "H-how far down do these go?" Pale fingers pull his shirt to the side, exposing an explosive scar on Christophe's shoulder. The blond is frowning. "Where did – argh – you get these?" he asks again.

Christophe heaves a sigh. "Tweek, I could zake off everyzing I am wearing and zere would be scars everywhere." The brunette holds out his tan arms, covered with thick lighter scars. "Zey are from a life I am not a part of anymore." He begins to play with the gold hoop in his ear, not enjoying where this conversation is going.

Still, he doesn't stop Tweek from tugging his shirt the other way to glimpse that shoulder. "Did it hurt?"

With a shrug, the brunette replies, "Zey still do sometimes."

Tweek's golden eyes are misty. Not a tear falls though. "I'm sorry, C-Christophe."

"Do nut pity me." He replies in a flat tone.

Slowly, the blond nods. They sit in silence for a moment. "Can I – ack – see the rest?"

That was incredibly direct. And so tempting. Its probably a good idea to keep his clothing on. "Non. Not tonight. You are drunk."

"I-I don't know what you're – mmm – talking about." Tweek replies stubbornly. This is the Tweek that Christophe wants to see. The one who isn't afraid to speak his mind. The one who isn't under Craig's thumb.

Vibrating comes from the table. Tweek gets up, pads over, and checks his phone.

Christophe's heart sinks at the sight of the frown on the blond's face.

"Its like eleven – nngh – man." Tweek informs him. "I g-gotta go home."

Slowly Christophe nods. He gets to his feet and helps Tweek find his shoes and jacket. "Come back tomorrow, okay? Zere is more painting zo be done."

The blond bends over to get his shoes on, giving Christophe a nice view of his ass. Tweek is nodding but his words are different from his actions, "I h-have to see – hic – what my plans are. But I, uh, will c-call you if I'm coming."

Christophe helps Tweek shrug into his jacket. The pale teen is beaming at him. The urge to kiss him – even just on the forehead – is overwhelming. _Do not rush it. _"Text me when you get 'ome. I want zo know you got zere safely."

After Tweek promises and they say their goodbyes, Christophe closes the door. He leans against it and takes a deep breath. "Fuck." The brunette takes a cold shower, which both sobers him up and cools off his lust. "I zink eet went well, Luminoir." The brunette tells his cat before collapsing into bed naked.


End file.
